An Enterprising Generation
by Lilgreenman
Summary: As two generations collide, Marissa Flores has a date with destiny. Written to celebrate the 20th anniversary of Stephen Ratliff's "Marissa Stories".
1. Chapter 1

AUTHOR'S NOTE

In all the recent hullabaloo over the 50th anniversary of _Doctor Who_, it's worth remembering another milestone anniversary of a long-running sci-fi series. I'm talking, of course, about Stephen Ratliff's "Marrissa Stories" - a long thread of over 50 fanfics centering around an obscure one-episode character from a Star Trek TNG episode.

Take a look at them on this site - it's interesting to see the evolution of one writer's general competence and narrative skills from the depths of "Enterprized" and "Time Speeder", to his current work, a number of Harry Potter stories that are at worst, decent. If you're reading this, Stephen, I'd like to stress that this is a celebration. You are, in the words of Mad Magazine, "a great sport, all kidding aside", and I hope that any fans of Marissa, Trek, Mystery Science Theater 3000, or just humorous stories will see that.

CHAPTER 1

A boxy, hunched ship flew through space at a dozen times the speed of light. Somewhere aboard, a voice broke the silence.

"Personal log, Marrissa Amber Floras recording.

"STARDATE 48632.7, in the year 2371. As I return to my childhood home, I realize I could not ask for more dependable or dedicated friends. Jay, Patterson, Clara - and our lost comrade Alexander Rozhenko, whose departure to discover his Klingon roots is still deeply felt."

Marissa stopped recording as her loyal but subordinate friend Jay-Gordon Graas tugged at a lock of her blond hair to get her attention. "Why are you talking like that? Do you have a sore throat or something?"

"It's how Captain Kirk talked." Marissa responded.

"Of course it's Captain Kirk." Jay-Gordon harrumphed, with surprising maturity for his nine years. "It's always Captain Kirk, if it isn't Captain Picard. What's the big deal with starship captains? Captain Proton, there's a good captain!"

Marissa, who was the oldest of their little circle, was a natural at condescension. "Don't be such a baby. Captain Kirk - he really happened, it was all real! Not like some book or holoprogram."

"No - no it's not! They said - I heard it - Captain Kirk wasn't real!" Patterson Supra, like many people with easily-mockable names, had a lot of anger in him. In the enlightened, peaceful twenty-fourth century, though, such drives to destroy and maim were channeled into safer avenues. Patterson was an accomplished sportsman, martial artist and orator...at least, that's what he would be called if he were an adult. At age seven, though, this translated to 'bully, stubborn, and a sore loser'.

"I remember, they found out!" Patterson continued. "They went over the records and all the dates were wrong, and the planets were wrong! I know, I remember it!"

Marissa didn't like to challenges to her authority - she had made an effort to be assertive and leaderly since her little group had formed. She was quite timid and tacit when she was younger, but her outlook had been changed by a trauma two years ago, when the spaceship she called home had hit a quantum filament, all power had been knocked out, and she had only been able to survive thanks to the ship's captain, renowned diplomat Jean-Luc Picard.

Marissa had been reborn that day - she had taken Captain Picard on as an idol. She attempted to emulate his mannerisms, speech patterns and worldview - decidedly difficult for a preteen, who had only the barest of insights into his conflicted and eventful life.

She put a parental hand on Patterson's shoulder. "You're not quite remembering it correctly, Patterson." Marissa said, with hints of the French accent she had tried and miserably failed to cultivate three months previously. "You'll find that the errors in the famous five-year mission's data banks were due to inteer.." She paused, to get her bearings as she navigated the uneven ground of the word's syllables - "The in-ter-ference from the failed installation of multi-tronic systems on the ship's computer."

The group had been very closely knit since their Starfleet officer parents had been assigned to a remote Federation outpost, Deep Space Nine. The station was in a very politically charged region of space, and the atmosphere wasn't exactly the most nurturing for young children. Though there were less than a dozen preteens on the station, some effort to accommodate them had been made by Keiko O'Brien, wife of the station's chief engineer. Mrs. O'Brien had started a one-room schoolhouse, the students of which had quickly formed two opposing cliques. In the late twentieth century, they might have been called jocks and nerds, but in the cosmopolitan, understanding environment of the twenty-fourth century...well, no one had been able to think of a substitute (Marissa had suggested "The Kid's Crew", but this had been vetoed out of apathy). It was immaterial, as Marissa's group thought in very delineated "Us and them" terms, and the three-boy-strong opposing force of Michael, Thomas and Corbin did the same.

The two groups had been locked in a state of cold war for more than a year and a half, but it had been brought to an unexpected end when a much larger war had started - after the discovery of a huge, powerful and dictatorial Dominion on Deep Space 9's doorstep, all non-essential personnel were withdrawn from the station. Through an application of the strange and mystical power children have over adults, Marissa's group had managed to get themselves all assigned to the same ship: The mighty Federation flagship, the _Enterprise_. The very same ship where Marissa had experienced her renaissance.

The _Enterprise_ (Starfleet classification NCC-1701-D, as if you didn't know) was on the same peaceful mission of exploration and diplomacy that it had been for the past seven years. Or, at least, that's what Captain Picard kept saying. In practice, the ship was just as likely to be in a deadlock with a Romulan warbird, or an encounter with a hostile spaceborne species, as it was to be charting a far-flung region of space or hosting a diplomatic conference.

This varied lifestyle had produced some of the best officers to ever sail across the confusingly metaphorical sky. The senior staff of the ship - one-of-a-kind sentient android Data, revolutionary computer scientist Geordi La Forge, the proud Klingon tactical officer Worf, and so on - had risen to giants in their field since their mission had began.

Of course, being the breeding ground for so many of these giants, the _Enterprise_ wasn't too small itself. As Marissa's shuttle dropped out of warp speed a few thousand kilometers from the ship, the girl pressed her face against the glass in a futile effort to see every inch of the nearly half-mile long vessel, her home of so many years. In a strangely slow maneuver, the shuttle circled the _Enterprise_ at a relative speed of about 5 miles an hour. Marissa wasn't complaining, though - she was relishing every moment of it.

Three minutes later, she wasn't relishing it a bit. Neither were any of her friends. Clara Sutter had started talking to no one in particular - or maybe that imaginary friend of hers, Elizabeth, who Marissa had long as a means of pacification and power over the younger girl.

"What's taking them so long?" Clara sighed. "Anyone know?"

Marissa got up, theatrically. "I'll ask, don't worry." She stamped into the shuttle's cabin. "Daddy, what's going on?", Marissa said in her best put-upon voice.

Lieutenant George Flores looked up from his console. "Don't worry, Princess - our impulse drives are just offline for safety - we're on thrusters. We'll be there in a couple minutes."

"But I want to go now! Can't you just beam onto the ship?"

"Think, Marissa - what would happen to the shuttle? I can beam all your friends up if you really want to, but it would take around the same time anyway..."

"Pleeeeeease?"

Lt. Flores sighed. "Oh, all right. Get your little Crew to the transporter, I'll have Patterson's mom beam you out." A short woman on the other side of the cabin turned back to her station at this. "Runabout _Mississippi_ to _Enterprise_, requesting transport..."


	2. Chapter 2

**NOTE:** As will become clear, this story takes place before and during _Star Trek Generations_.

On board the flagship, a white and blue shimmer permeated the transporter room. Within seconds, the shimmer resolved itself into Marissa, Jay-Gordon, Patterson and Clara. The four looked around - the room was empty, the only signs of activity being a muffled voice from behind the door. Silently, Marissa led the others through the door, into the well-appointed corridors of the _Enterprise_, where a commotion was taking place.

Several hapless security officers stood in the hallway outside the transporter room, trying to curl up into their red uniforms. A shrill, old woman with a cane was lecturing them, giving them a threatening swing as they tried to inch away from her tirade. "...What do you mean, security clearance? I'm a hundred and eighteen, I'll go where I damn well please! Why, I was serving on Starfleet ships before you were born, I'll have you know, and..."

The old woman paused, mid-rant. As she noticed Marissa, her sunken face crinkled into a smile. She hugged the girl tightly, oblivious to the security officers scampering away. "Why, Marissa! It's wonderful to see you! And all your friends - welcome back to the _Enterprise_!"

Marissa squirmed and blushed in the elderly woman's grip. "Gramma, stop it, you're embarrassing me!" Patterson giggled, Jay-Gordon bit his lip.

"I'm family, dear, it's my job. Come now, let's take you to your quarters."

Marissa's great-grandmother, retired biologist and Starfleet science officer Gillian Taylor, had been the girl's de facto guardian for most of her time on the _Enterprise_, in place of her hot-shot Starfleet officer parents. Dr. Taylor was even older than her manner and appearance suggested: Born in the year 1952, she had lived a twentieth-century life on twentieth-century Earth. Her life took a turn for the unusual in the 1980s, though, when Federation hero James Kirk travelled back to her time from the twenty-third century to prevent the annihilation of earth via super-amplified whale song.

...Yes, whale song. These sort of events were commonplace in Kirk's illustrious career, but, fortunately, so was success: The planet was saved, Dr. Taylor was transported almost 300 years into her future, and after spending some time with Kirk that she was most definitely not planning on discussing with her great-granddaughter, began a long career in marine xenobiology.

Situations like this - people transported far beyond their native time - were a rare occurrence, but not unheard of. Psychologists had put their few available subjects under intense scrutiny, and had found a single, surprisingly common trait: Almost every single person who had managed to cope with their trip through time, and reintegrate into society, harbored an obsession of one degree or another with the culture and ethos of the time period immediately after the time they had left - as a perfect example, Gillian Taylor was a 1990's junkie. She was a scholar of the broadcast serials, printed books, and music of the time, and knew every catchphrase, slogan, and jingle there was.

Marissa hadn't been very interested in her grandmother's life and passion, but a few things had slipped through, most notably the parts about James Kirk. Marissa regarded Kirk with the same worshipful adoration as most of the Federation, but he was disconnected to her - words on a page, where Jean-Luc Picard was a living legend. In the three years since she had laid eyes on the captain, Picard had ascended in her mind to the level of an ideal: The perfect starship captain, a standard to strive towards, the best qualities of an officer embodied in one man.

And now, that man was just a few decks away. Marissa was preoccupied with this thought as she walked through the halls of the ship, which took her mind off her great-grandmother's painful grip on her wrist.

Eventually, Dr. Taylor let Marissa into her quarters. The room was as starkly clean and well-appointed as any other on the flagship - all light gray contours and beige carpeting. Dr. Taylor had made an attempt to personalize and warm up the room, but even an antique banner from her alma mater (Roanoke, Virginia's Cave Spring High School, in garish red and black) and an antique advert for a popular broadcast from her time (featuring quite a lot of some calligraphic dead language and a girl with eye-wateringly long pigtails) didn't help - the atmosphere was almost aggressively boring and uniform. Marissa stared out of the tiny window into the empty space beyond - she had long despaired the fact that while many great men had seen their destiny, or their love, or their future in the stars, she saw a humdrum black void with white bits.

She plopped down on the large bed, sighing - relieved to be able to drop the burden of command for once. Eventually, she relented and struck up conversation with her grandmother."How's the ship been doing?" She asked.

"Oh, quiet, as that sort of thing goes." The old woman stared at a wall. "Let's see here... we entered a convergence of infinite parallel realities about three months ago, and... oh yes, the ship started to replicate itself exponentially. Other than that, it's business as usual, I suppose."

"Sounds fun..." Marissa responded, half-heartedly.

"Oh, Marissa. You don't have to pretend you want to be here - what do you and your friends do, for fun?"

Marissa never got to answer, her train of thought interrupted by the familiar chime of the ship's intercom, as all the lights on the ship turned dark red.

"Red Alert - all hands to battle stations!"


	3. Chapter 3

As the old woman led Marissa away, Jay-Gordon and Patterson were reunited with their respective parents. Jay-Gordon hugged his mother, said his goodbyes to Patterson, and trudged through the _Enterprise_. He barely remembered the place, and he was on unfamiliar territory. He was glad, though, for the change of scenery - Federation Outpost Deep Space Nine was a dreadfully depressing place, all shadows and ugly neon, and couldn't be farther removed from the bright, shag-carpeted flagship. The new environment had already reinvigorated him, made him feel more alive.

The few memories Jay-Gordon did have of life on the _Enterprise_ were, of course, idyllic - before Marissa had reinvented herself as a domineering young woman, she had been a sweet, quiet little girl. Jay-Gordon held the same incontrovertible enmity that all nine-year-olds have for their opposite gender, but he could handle the old Marissa , but the new one - the one that had burst into his life and taken near-total control of it, the one who he had decided early on to stay safe around and side with - was a real problem.

Children of the twenty-fourth century were stuffed near to bursting with knowledge, and Jay-Gordon had quite a bit of tactical education under his belt - he was racking his brains now, trying to remember the parts without the cool Romulan battles and Mongol hordes. He gave up on this, though, to return to the most memorable depictions of tactical warfare he knew: The _Adventures of Captain Proto_n holoprogram series. Jay-Gordon was an avid viewer, and started thinking aloud about a few of the more relevant serials.

"When Captain Proton, was trapped by Queen Arachnea, what did he do?" He thought back to that particular adventure, and found the answer, clear as day: "He pretended to go along with her plans, until trusty sidekick Buster Kincaid could...save the day..."

As he thought, the background noise of his parents' conversation was interrupted by a two-note beep that seemed to come from all around him - the ship's intercom.

"Red alert - all hands to battle stations! We're receiving a distress call from the Amaragosa Observatory - they say they're under attack!"

As Mr. and Mrs. Graas whisked him through the suddenly darkened hall and put him to bed, Jay-Gordon's mind started to race.

Patterson Supra was possibly the only one of Marissa's little group (She was the only one who thought of them as the "Kids Crew") who could count every other member of that group as a friend. Marissa was playing out some huge game in her head, Jay-Gordon could be quite mean when he was in a bad mood, and Clara was...well, Clara. Patterson hadn't been very interested in making friends when he had first met the other three, but he was quite willing to side with anyone his age who would talk to him for more than a minute at length without escalating to a fistfight, and he had since become fiercely loyal to Marissa's group.

So now, when Jay-Gordon had come to him in the early morning with a proposition to ostracize Marissa from the group, he wasn't sure whose side to take.

Jay-Gordon had anticipated this, however, and had managed to talk Clara around first (Elizabeth had been in a good mood), and Patterson was convinced by simple arithmetic: 2+1 1+1.

"So, Marissa doesn't get to be our group anymore - then who gets to be the leader?" Patterson was wary of power struggles, and wanted to avoid a fight - or, at the very least, ensure he would win if there was one.

Jay-Gordon was excited by this. "You don't get it, Pat - we're friends! We don't need someone to lead us! We can just be regular friends!"

"You sure about that? Because you'll just say that and make us do whatever you tell us, and you'll say 'Oh, I'm not the leader, we're regular friends, just like I've been saying!' We did this in History, Jay!"

Jay-Gordon paused. "What did you call me, Pat?"

"Jay. It's...your name."

"No, no it's not, my name's Jay-Gordon!"

"Really?" Patterson asked.

"Marissa calls me Jay all the time, and she never listens when I tell her she's wrong."

The two boys stared at each other in a pensive silence, before Clara - who, Jay-Gordon realized, had been following him the entire time - spoke.

"I can see why you don't like her."


	4. Chapter 4

In Marissa's quarters, the dark red lights finally cleared. "The Federation observatory has been attacked." Came a voice over the intercom. "Survivors unknown - an investigation is underway."

Marissa thought about that last part - an investigation. Chances are that meant the ship's First Officer and security chief, in a dangerous environment, with only their wits and their phasers to save them. After all her years of fantasies, it hurt her deeply to hear that someone not too far away was living them out.

She decided to console herself with her favorite food. "Can I have some strawberry juice, Gramma?"

"Of course you can." Said Dr. Taylor. "Not too much, though, it's almost your bedtime." Marissa agreed to this - however, she was less amenable to sleeping after her third glass, though, and her grandmother had to dissolve a sleeping tablet in her fourth to calm her down.

The next day began slowly. It transpired over breakfast that there had been a power failure on the ship, and the backups had been engaged - nonessential things like lights and turbolifts were working on minimal power. The ship was a good deal darker, and it had reflected on its newest inhabitants. Marissa, Patterson, Clara, even Jay-Gordon with his newfound purpose - no one was in a good mood.

Dr. Taylor greeted the group in the morning. "Well, it's your first day back - what do you feel like doing?"

Reflexively, all heads turned to Marissa, who contemplated the question with an almost royal deliberation, before a matter-of-fact answer.

"The Holodeck. We want to go to the Holodeck. We weren't allowed to use it without our parents on the station, and we want to go to the Holodeck." And so it was - the group made their way to the technical decks of the _Enterprise_, which housed the huge banks of computers and replicators necessary for the Holodeck to function. As they arrived at the computer terminal outside the entrance, they noticed a red-bordered warning notice on the screen.

"As non-essential to ship functions", Dr. Taylor read, craning her neck to see, "The Holodeck is currently utilizing minimal power. Please limit use among personnel to a single user at any one time...and have a nice day." She smirked, and turned back to Marissa and her friends.

Anyone but a grandparent would have taken notice of all the intricate, wordless changes of power in what happened next: Patterson and Clara looked at Jay-Gordon and Marissa, then each other, then down, out of the running. Jay-Gordon was more obstinate, though, pursing his lips and looking at the inviting Holodeck door, but after a glance at Marissa and her massive arsenal of disapproving glares, augmented by the nuclear deterrent of Dr. Taylor, and gave a meaningful blink before nodding. The whole thing had taken less than ten seconds, but the ship's counselor would have had a field day.

Marissa stepped into the Holodeck, matter-of-factly reciting a string of LCARS computer code as the doors whooshed closed.

"Don't worry, everyone, Marissa won't have all the fun!" Dr Taylor said, smiling. "There's an observation room - we can see what she's doing! It'll be like seeing a movie!" The children were surprised at this - they had never heard of anything like this, but they were interested. The old woman herded them into a smooth, ovoid room, with a row of well-padded seats. As the door closed, everything started to go pure white. The walls, floor, chairs - even their own bodies seeped into a black, void nothingness. Startled, the children felt around for their limbs, only for Dr. Taylor to lay a comforting hand on their backs. "Don't worry, everything's working fine. It'll be like any other holo-program, but Marissa will be doing all the hard work."

Eventually, the void began to coalesce into a familiar shape - the bridge of a century-old starship, with Marissa in the captain's chair, and various men and women at the bridge stations. Everyone recognized Captain Picard wearing a First Officer's uniform, and Marissa's old friend Wesley Crusher at the ops station, but the others were strangers.

"That's James Kirk and Jonathan Archer!" Dr. Taylor said excitedly, indicating a curly-haired fat man, having a hushed conversation with a tall man with a squint. "Heroes of Starfleet!"

"Oh?" Jay-Gordon said. "No wonder - Marissa talks about them all the time. She wants to be just like them."

"Not just like them." Said Patterson. "Look at her!"

Marissa was in the Captain's chair - which was significantly larger and comfier than the standard model - with her eyes closed, her head lolling back, and a look of utter bliss on her face.

After she had evidently had enough, she opened her eyes. "Mr. Crusher, status report." She said, reverting to a level, mature tone of voice that did not suit the timbre of an eleven-year-old girl in the slightest.

The holographic recreation of the _Enterprise_'s youngest crewmember didn't seem to care. "Entering the Romulan Neutral Zone, Marrissa." Though it was barely audible unless you were listening for it, Wesley pronounced Marissa's name with the same lilting, lisping r that she used - a feature that it had taken the girl hours to program.

"We'll reach the USS _Kobayashi Maru_ in three minutes at present speed."


	5. Chapter 5

"So this is how she does her Kobayashi Maru?" Patterson asked.

"I guess." Jay-Gordon said, uncertainly. "I always wondered."

"Elizabeth was wondering too." Clara said. "She thinks there's a trick."

Created by the renowned Ambassador Spock (currently the tactical officer of Marissa's simulated crew) almost 150 years ago, the Kobayashi Maru test was a well-kept secret exam for high-level Starfleet cadets, at the Academy in San Francisco. It was designed as a gauge of a novice commander's quick thinking and decision-making: The test appeared to be a simple rescue simulation, with a cargo ship adrift in the Neutral Zone needing to be rescued before hostile Romulan forces arrived. Once the ship was in range, though, the situation was revealed to be an ambush, and a squadron of Warbirds would attack. The trainee would be faced with a choice: Leave the stranded ship to be killed, sacrifice their own ship to save the stranded one, or do nothing and allow both to die: A textbook (literally) no-win scenario.

Cadet George Flores, a fifth-year Academy student and dyed-in-the-wool underachiever who had come to San Francisco from the woods of Virginia, had not been the first to call the test unfair, nor had he been the first to break the unwritten rule and discuss it with someone who hadn't taken taken the test - in this case, his fiancee, and later, their daughter.

Marissa had become enraptured by the story of the test after hearing it from her father and learning of the pivotal role it had played in the career of James Kirk, and had pestered as many officers as she could for information about it - the only one who had given her any help, though, was Clara's father, a young engineer who had been more than willing to help out Clara's cute little friend. He had easily bypassed the virtual barriers of the _Enterprise_'s artificially-unintelligent computer, and extracted the Kobayashi Maru's file.

Not having been exposed to any other Starfleet Command exercises, Marissa had falsely assumed that the goal was not quick thinking but survival - after her years of practice, she had been able to escape annihilation by the Romulans for over 21 minutes. She had used this survival time figure as a sort of ranking system for her circle of friends - any challenge to her authority or wishes would be brooked by a mention of her untouchable Kobayashi Maru time. The group had thus germinated around Marissa - none of them had ever been able to pass 3 minutes or so in the simulation, and Marissa was tight-lipped on the secret of her success.

And now, as they watched, this secret began to unfold. "Captain, we're approaching the vessel." The squinting man - Archer - said in an American Southern drawl. "Looks like they're adrift."

"Put the ship onscreen. And tell Engineering to raise shields, and warm up our warp drive." Marissa said, tonelessly.

"Shields, Captain?" Asked Spock, raising one Vulcan eyebrow.

"That was an order, Mr. Spock.

A small, tubular vessel appeared among a starfield, turning slowly.

"We've matched speed with the ship, Captain - rescue can begin momentarily, but we have to get our shields down first." This came from James Kirk, who was sitting wide-eyed at the weapons station.

"Keep the shields up." Marissa said. "How's our engine doing, Mr. Crusher?"

"Ready for warp, Mar-rissa, but I don't see..."

"Captain!" Mr. Spock interjected. "Three Romulan warbirds, decloaking!"

"Mr. Crusher, I believe there is a star nearby - coordinates 9-9-3, mark 1-2-9. Set a course there, and go to maximum warp. Engage!"

"Aye, sir!" Wesley said quickly, and the motes of Brownian-moving space debris on the viewscreen started streaming past.

"Where are the Romulans?"

"They're firing on the Kobayashi Maru, Captain Floras!" Archer said, worried. "At present speed we're heading out of range - we won't be able to track to them much longer! Are you giving up on them?"

"Maintain present course and speed, and that..." Marissa paused, looking at the chronometer "...is an order!"

"The Romulans are still on our tail, Marrissa!" Welsey shouted!"

"Evasive maneuvers, now! Try to lose them!"

More than a few Starfleet cadets had tried to subvert the test - to engage the enemy on more familiar terms, or similar. As a result, the test was almost infinitely iterative, being able to analyze different strategies on the fly and open up almost all of the virtual Milky Way for exploration - the computers required to run it back at the Academy had to be almost as complicated as the _Enterprise_'s computer.

Since the program was run on the _Enterprise_'s computer, though, this function was compromised. Marissa had used a centuries-old trick of simulator players everywhere, and escaped the _Kobayashi Maru_'s destruction by going too far away for it to be in the computer's memory - she hadn't failed the test yet, because the ship technically hadn't been destroyed. And the time ticked on.

For minutes, the children watched, transfixed, as the chase raged on. The attention span of children had not been helped by centuries of advancement, though, and they soon began talking among themselves.

"So, she's been lying the whole time?" Patterson said. "She didn't do anything - she's cheating or something!"

"Really? How does she know how to do that?" Clara asked, with typical thoughtfulness.

"She's smart in this, she could find out!" Jay-Gordon said, almost shouting. "It's scary - I'm scared of her! I hate her!"

"I hate her too!" Patterson said. "I tried everything in that, and she's cheating and says she's better than us! I wanna...I wanna make her sorry!"

"Well, can we just go in and tell her?" Clara wondered, turning to Dr. Taylor as she said this.

"Eh, what? What was that, dear?" Dr. Taylor said, confused. "Oh, no, it wouldn't be nice to interrupt her playing."

"But she's evil! She's mean!" Patterson said angrily. "I'm gonna go and get her!"

Dr. Taylor hadn't been paying attention, but a century of child-care had allowed her to function on virtual auto-pilot. "Well, if Marissa's been naughty, I'll take you down there, and I'll make her apologize." As Jay-Gordon explained the situation, she led the group out of the little alcove and down to the holodeck entrance...

Marissa was in her element here - enemies hot on her tail, the finest Starfleet crew of all time at her disposal, and a nice big chronometer at the center of her view screen, counting the seconds on her survival time. 6:22, 6:23, 6:24... and then, at 06.24.47, the time stopped. And her kindly, ever-understanding grandmother walked in.

"Marissa!" She said, in a tone demanding instant apology. "Have you been lying to your friends?"

The young girl's face flushed red. "I...I..." And she burst into tears.


	6. Chapter 6

After Marissa had stormed out of the room, followed by a flustered Dr. Taylor, Jay-Gordon reflected on what he was feeling - though he had never had the occasion to learn the word schadenfreude, he certainly had a wonderful feeling of triumph and power after seeing her in such a state. He stared into space as he planned, drawing once again from his experience with Captain Proton: The monster had been damaged, now it only remained to vanquish her... to vanquish it forever. It had retreated, and so now the chase was on.

"We should follow her." He said to Clara and Patterson. "This is our chance - we can make her stop being mean to us, stop her from doing whatever she wants!"

"Yeah!" Patterson said, ready for a fight.

"No, Jay...I mean, Jay-Gordon." Clara said, with conviction. "Elizabeth...doesn't like this. She says it's bad to be mean to her when she's crying. She says it's mean . It's just like I said - it's the same thing she was doing."

Jay-Gordon didn't like the sound of that. "So what do you want us to do, smarty?"

Clara's eyes widened again. "I don't know, and Elizabeth won't say... just not this."

Jay looked from Clara to Patterson, deciding to take his stronger friend's judgement into account. "What do you think we should do, Pat?"

"I don't want to have to decide this!" Patterson said, flustered. "I want to get back! She's just evil!"

Jay sighed. "You're right. But we need to make it so we can both do this. How about if we...use her powers against her?"

"Huh?" Clara asked. "She's not a superhero - how do you do that?"

"You don't need to be a superhero to have powers, Pat." Jay-Gordon shouted. "She has powers...over us! Look what we're doing - we all needed to get together! She has powers, all right!"

Patterson agreed with this. "She's evil, and she's mean, and she's smart, and she always takes everything. Can we kill her with that?"

"Well, if she always takes everything..." Jay-Gordon wondered, "...why not make her take a vacation?"


	7. Chapter 7

Marissa cried into her pillow, taking deep breaths of the fresh, downy air around her. After a few minutes and some clunking noises, the air took on a musty scent, and she realized Dr. Taylor had come into her room.

"Oh, dearie, don't cry." She said, sitting down beside her great-granddaughter. "Your friends aren't really angry at you - I'm sure they'll be perfectly happy, once you explain how much that little game means to you."

"Gramma, you're just stupid!" Marissa burrowed deeper into her bedclothes, trying to escape any contact. "You're being stupid! They're being stupid! Everyone's being stupid! The universe is stupid!"

"Oh, don't worry about that. Should I leave you alone, with the stupid universe, for a while?" The lines of Dr. Taylor's face crinkled into a smile.

"Yes, leave me alone. Now! Get out!" Marissa's shouts were muffled, but the old woman hurried away.

Marissa had the chance to be alone with her thoughts, and she wasn't sur4e what to do with the opportunity. Her friends had stayed loyally at her side forever, but she had always known that the loyalty of young boys was fickle. She had never really planned for what would happen if her friends decided they didn't want her around, but she had dreaded it - and so, she broke down into tears.

In the modern, twenty-fourth century educational system, children are trained rigorously to be nothing more or less than bite-size adults - and this holds even truer for Starfleet brats. Marissa was forced to grow up so fast that something had to give - and so, Marissa, as she had so many times in the past, cried like a baby.

When the last of her tears had dried, she surrendered herself - staring blankly out the window, completely zoning out. And so, it caught her by surprise when she saw a bright orange streak of energy, streaming past the Enterprise - a spatial anomaly. She jumped, and got a strange feeling of deja-vu - she had seen it somewhere before.

She was knocked out of her lethargic mope by this, and sent down a long river of thought. She would ask need to ask someone about the anomaly. Someone who knew their stuff, who had been all over the universe and learned all they could from it, someone who Marissa could trust not to be judgemental...

"Computer?" She asked, speaking to thin air. The ship's computer was listening, and sent back a short, friendly series of beeps in reply.

"There's a spatial anomaly to the..." She paused, working out the dimensions in her head. "...to the far starboard of the ship. Does it match anything into your records?"

"This information is restricted to crewmembers only." The computer said curtly. "Have a nice day."

Marissa frowned. Her trauma hadn't diminished her hero-worship of the senior staff of the_ Enterprise_ - who would surely be the only ones to know the whole story of whatever this anomaly was. She knew they would never deign themselves to tell her anything about it, and so there was only one alternative.

"Ten Forward!" She said triumphantly to the turbolift. She had a plan now - she would go to the Enterprise's lounge and restaurant. She would ask the bartender - a kindly alien named Guinan, who somehow seemed to know absolutely everything there was to know, and had a soft spot for rascals.

When Marissa got the chance to flag down Guinan, though, she wasn't as forthcoming. In fact, she almost seemed frightened when she asked about the glowing orange spatial anomaly streaking past the ship.

"The...spatial anomaly, Marissa?" She said, visibly startled, which was the equivalent of a shriek of fright for the usually collected and secure Guinan.

"Yes - why?" Marissa was confused. "Is something wrong? I thought you might know something about it..."

"Oh, believe me, Marissa, I know about it..." Guinan sighed, wistfully. "I know just how hard this feels to hear from an adult, but..." She smiled. "I can't tell you 'till you're older."

Marissa tilted her head, considering this. "But it's a spatial anomaly..." She said, drawing on a knowledge of sexuality mostly culled from her grandmother's collection of animation. "Why would it have anything to do with..."

"With pleasure, Marissa?" Guinan got a faraway look in her eyes. "The Nexus has everything to do with pleasure..."


End file.
